Don't Read This Story
by BornAsTheSeventhMonthDies
Summary: Don't read this. It's dangerous for everyone. Cause you don't care what happens when Brett kills a mortal, right? Or what happens when he goes on a quest for the Secret? Or when we discover what MacroCorps really is. Right? Did I just hook you? Sorry. But seriously: Don't Read This Book. *ADOPTED BY LATENIGHTCOFFEE*
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, hey, hey, my people! Here's the newest amusing anecdotal attributable addition! R &R! Survive!**

 _Don't read this book. If you are any of the following things, put it down right now: 1) Human, 2) Ambulatory, 3) Sentient, 4) Alive._

 _If you are one of those people who is in a vegetative state, and incapable of movement of thought, please keep reading. If you are not human, carry on._

 _But if you feel like there's something wrong with this book, you are completely right. This book has mystery. Excitement. Adventure. Battles, love, evil, good, gods, dogs, and the occasional flying brick._

 _Did I just hook you? Damnit._

 _Don't read this book._

* * *

My day as a middle schooler started out like any other. I had school. Played basketball. Went home, yelled at my little brother, played video games.

Then it went bad.

Cause right in the middle of level 5 of Overkill, we got a knock on the door. I went to get it. Standing outside was my good friend Nate.

"Hey, Brett," he said. "Came over to ask if you wanted to come to the thing tonight."

"What thing?" I asked.

"You know, the what's-it-called. The thing. The party or whatever."

"Where?"

"Dylan's house."

Great. I hate Dylan. Most people hate Dylan. His own mom hates Dylan.

"Who's coming?"

"Oh, ah, Jeff, Aidan, Connor, Kade, I dunno. Everyone."

"Kay. I'll be there. What time?"

"Hell, I dunno. Six, I guess."

I closed the door. "BYE!" he yelled through the wood. I shook my head, a faint smile on my face. Nate was an idiot, but he was a funny idiot and girls called him cute.

I played games till six, then yeah. I went to the party.

* * *

When I got there, lights were on, snacks were out, people were there.

"So what's it all for?" I asked Dylan.

"Oh, it's for someone's birthday," he said, grinning.

"Whose?"

"I don't know! Someone in Africa, maybe. Someone's birthday today, right?"

Now a quick character check about Dylan. He's hot. Strong. Football running back. Tall for his age, probably five foot nine. But he's not even a stereotypical dumb jock. He's top of most classes. Straight A's. Why does everyone hate him?

Cause he's quite certain that he's the most important thing since Adam. He beats people up on a regualar basis. But again, not even the stereotypical kindergartner threatening. He'll attack, randomly, ninth and tenth graders, unprovoked, and beat them up too. Anyone. It's irritating. And dangerous. He has mental issues and anger management. Once, he gave a twelve year old a concussion. Then he gave a sixteen year old a broken arm.

Anyway, he's stuck up, too clever for his own good, violent, and you can't even call him stupid.

Back to the party: "Sure, okay," I said. "Who brought all this?"

"Moi," he said, pointing to himself. "Free of charge, thank you very much."

Last thing: he's filthy stinking rich. His parents are millionaires each. They co-run a business called MacroCorps, something big.

He wandered away through the party.

I was there for about two hours. Why just two hours, you might ask, when the party was supposed to go on till midnight?

Well, simple. Cause I got put away.

Two hours in, I went to the bathroom. When I came out, I heard whimpering down a hallway.

I ran to see what it was. It was Kade.

Now, Kade. Pretty much the nicest guy since Jesus. Short, five foot one maybe, blonde, funny guy. He was crying in the hallway.

"Hey, hey, what's going on?" I asked. He looked up, startled.

"Noth—nothing," he said. "Nothing."

"Come on, Kade," I said. "Tell me."

"Leave me alone!" he yelled.

"Okay, okay," I said. "After you tell me what's wrong."

He put his head down on the floor. "Dylan," he whispered.

"What about the bastard?" I asked.

"He…hurt me…"

"How?"

He rolled over. On his shirtless chest were bruises and red marks.

"What did he do?" I yelled. Kade didn't deserve this. Kade was better than this.

"Hit me…" he pointed to a stick in the corner. "But don't tell him I told you, please! Don't…"

I grabbed the stick. It was made of the same aluminum as a baseball bat, but thinner and shorter. My vision went red. I couldn't see anything but Dylan.

I went charging back into the main room, Kade behind me. I disregarded his weak protests; Dylan couldn't hurt him f he was six feet under.

Dylan, across the room, saw me coming. His eyes widened, almost comically. A kid saw where I was going and grabbed my arm. I flung him into a table of food. Chip bags and M'n'Ms went everywhere.

Dylan yelled something at me, but I just heard a roaring in my ears. He ran to the wall and grabbed a pool cue.

I swung at him. He held the pool cue in two hands and tried to catch the metal stick between them, but the pool cue splintered. He yelped and jumped back. I took another swing. He caught it on his arm. He howled, holding his arm where I probably broke the bone. He lunged at me, good hand outstretched.

I brought it down on his head.

* * *

They took me away in a van. I got cuffed and then shoved in a cop van. They took me to juvie, where they said I was probably there for life, no matter about Kade.

I was in Juvie for a week. It was hell. The rest of the guys there were bad, bad dudes. I was just normal, not mental or anything, but I was actually the only person who'd ever killed anyone. It actually gave me a bit of seniority. I got a shower, a good meal, and a noise-free night, guaranteed.

For two days.

The morning of the third day, I was eating my breakfast, a nameless slop and an egg, in the mess room.

A guy came up to me. "Hey, Brat," he said.

"Now, that's not all that clever," I said. I should've definitely kept my mouth closed, but I hadn't learned much in the way of respect. Blame the following on my teachers. "It's not like that's the first time I've heard that. Or the tenth."

"Huh?" he said. "Naw, shut up. I'm asking you why we gotta jump through hoop for you. Looka you. Scrawny little wimp. How you coulda killed that guy's beyond me."

"Not too much isn't hmm?" I suggested. "And I never asked for you to 'jump through hoops'. I came in here like the rest of you. Treat me normal if you want."

"Oh, I'll treat you normal," he grinned. "There's something we do for newbies called initiation. Goes like this."

He drew his fist back.

This guy was probably sixteen. Huge ten pound fist. I could've taken this beating like a man.

Or I could've done what I did.

I jumped back, onto the table, sending plates and the glop flying in all directions. The guy's fist hit air. He growled and jumped up on the table next to me. He swung again. I dropped to a crouch. The haymaker made air.

I jumped back up and roundhouse kicked him in the head. He stumbled off the table. They didn't give us real shoes, just moccasin-like slippers, but my foot at least knocked him down.

He roared something I couldn't understand, then charged back at me. Alarms started to blare.

I ducked to the side. If he'd caught me, he would've crushed me, but as it was he just slipped and cracked his nose on the bench below the table.

He didn't get up.

Guards ran in, and grabbed me and the guy. They hustled us out of the room, into a smaller, stone, cage-like area.

A guy was sitting at a desk. Two guards were next to him.

"Mr. Rilder," he said to me. "Mr. Roskowski," to the other guy. "You've created quite the disturbance out there. What was it all about."

"I'm tired o' doin' whatever this fag wants," the guy yelled, at the same time that I yelled, "I never asked for any of this!"

"Quiet!" the man said. We both shut up.

"Mr. Rilder, why don't you go first."

"I never asked for them to treat me different!" I said. "What kind of sick system is this, that a killer gets seniority for everything. He got tired of it and attacked me."

"Yeah," the other guy said. "I wanted to teach him something. Leave it alone."

"I heard that you were given special privileges," the guy said to me.

I explained. And explained. At the end of it, we went back to the mess, nothing different.

But for the rest of the week, the rest of the guys in my section would do stuff. Bump me, hard, in a hallway. Cut me out of the shower lineup. Cut me in line for food. Little stuff.

But it got hard.

* * *

On the seventh day, I was about ready to shoot myself. A guard let me out of my cell in the morning, but instead of leading me to breakfast, he took me to a back hall.

"Aren't we going to breakfast?" I asked.

"Shut your mouth," he said.

I followed him back and back and back. We came out in a parking lot.

"Get in the van," he said, pointing.

I backed away. "Wait, wait, wait. Who are you? What's all this? You can't—"

"Hades, yes I can," he grinned. He grabbed a baseball bat out of the van. "Now you get in here or I'll crack you one."

I got in the van.

"Where…where are you taking me?" I asked, as the van started to pull away from the parking lot.

"Camp Half-Blood," he said.

* * *

 **So? How was I? Good? Bad? Anything you'd like changed? (Except for the minor cussing. That stays. Rated T for a reason, people.) Review! Please! That little box down there? Yeah, that!**

 **Anyhoo, this is the one I promised all y'all. So, quick recap: It's gonna be this one. Then the Untold Chronicles of Jonah Carry the Unbeliever. And the Solangelo Drabbles. Gimme a poke if I haven't finished a story (I lose track) and I'll pop a last chapter on and then pop a Complete stamp.**

 **Note: I meant to say this on the newest Solangelo Drabbles chappie, but I need suggestions for the newest drabble. Madeleine gave me a good one, but other than that I got nothin'. So either here or on the Drabbles, please review any idee that you got.**

 **Farewell, my good people! Until we meet again!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Aaaaand here's the next update! For a few chappies, I shall update irregularly. Sorry. Whenever I get the chance to write, I'll just dash off a few chapters and have done with them. But for now: here's the next one! R &R!**

* * *

 _Damn. You're still reading? I'd have thought that you would have realized this is not a good book. Put it down. Close it out. Come on! I mean seriously, this is a very bad book. I don't recommend you reading it; it may put bad images on your mind._

 _Anyway, I was writing the next chapter for this book. Of my life. And I realized something: you don't know why you shouldn't be reading this!_

 _So here's why. Remember when I said that Dylan's parents co-run that company MacroCorps? Well, MacroCorps has a very…sinister…true purpose. I looked it up. For normal people, MacroCorps is a technology company. But in reality, they're a very, very, very dangerous cat to play with._

 _What's so dangerous, you may ask? Well, the only way to find out…is to read on…_

 _But seriously, don't read this book._

* * *

I was in the van for a few hours. We drove. And drove. The windows were tinted on the inside, and there was a wall separating me from the front. I couldn't see anything.

Finally, the van turned down a dirt or gravel road. I could feel the bumps and the uneveness.

Then we stopped. The guard—though I was now doubting that he was a guard—came around and opened the back. I expected him to cuff me or something, but he just waved me out.

"Come on, kid, I don't bite," he said. Then he saw what I was expecting. "No, no! I'm not a guard, kid. That was a…wass it called?…a façade. Yeah. That. Or something. A disguise of sorts, and now I'm here and I can show off my goatliness."

He took off his pants.

A simple phrase, but one that's hard to actually watch in real life. However, when they were off, I didn't see boxers and legs. No.

I saw fur. And hooves.

He laughed at my shocked expression. "Can I just say, kid, that there's not been a single camper who _hasn't_ been stunned at the fact that I'm a satyr?"

"Satyr?"

"Half-goat, half-man."

"Oh."

He gave me a change of clothes. I got rid of the prison outfit.

"Come on," he said, waving me toward the direction the van was pointing. "Let's talk to the horse."

I followed him up a hill. At the top, he said, "I, Gleeson Hedge, keeper, give permission to Brett Rilder to enter Camp Half-Blood."

Then he walked past a huge tree, and I followed him.

And we were in Camp.

* * *

Camp was…how do I say it. Amazing? Incredible? Unbelievable? Awesome?

You get the idea. Anyway, I followed Gleeson to a big house, which he said was the Big House. Oh gee. Ya think?

As we walked through Camp, he gave me a running commentary of this, that, and the other thing. There was a climbing wall with real lava, a fighting arena, (which he said was his favorite), and tons and tons of different colored cabins.

We got up to the porch of the big house. On the porch was a 'motley crew'. There was: a fat, blotchy, sunburned guy in a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts, a blonde girl with a bright orange shirt on, knife strapped to her belt, another half-goat, pantsless again, with a green rasta cap on, and last but not least: a centaur.

A centaur. A half-horse, half-man kinda thing, holding cards. Actually, they were all holding cards, some kind of card game.

Gleeson said, "Hey everyone! It's our newest camper, Brett!"

Different responses. The girl waved, the satyr shook my hand and said, "Hi, my name's Grover Underwood," the centaur kinda saluted in this weird way, and the fat guy took a sip of Diet Coke and pointedly looked the other way.

Cheery.

The centaur glared at him. He groaned. "Fine,. Welcome to Camp, Brittney. Blah blah blah. Not happy to meet you."

"My name's Brett," I said. "You like, just heard my name. Come on."

He glared at me. "Silence, child. I am—"

"Yes, yes," the centaur interrupted him. "Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, Brett. Annabeth, take him on the tour, will you?"

She glanced at her watch. "Um, Percy's gonna get here in five minutes. Could Grover—"

"Sure, I'll do it," the satyr said. "I was losing anyway." He tossed his cards on the table and walked off the porch with me.

Now, I don't want to bore you, so I'll just say that the tour went well. I'm sure you big hot-shots know all about Camp already. So yeah.

* * *

Anyway, I got chucked in the Hermes cabin, which he said used to be really really full, but now that the gods had made some sort of promise or whatever, most of the unclaimed campers had a cabin.

So I got a bunk. It was actually the last one. By the time the cabin went out to do their training time in the arena, I'd lost my wallet, my cap, and a belt. Anyway, we went to the arena and someone gave me a sword.

"Well, campers," the two leaders of the cabin said in unison. "Today we're going to be training with swords."

Their names were Travis and Connor. I suspected that they were the ones who'd stolen my stuff.

"But that's what we do every day!" someone called out. "And why isn't Percy here?"

Travis winced. "Percy is in the big city for some very important reasons. Okay? And he's gonna be back any day…"

A new voice shouted from across the arena. "Travis! Why are _you_ teaching the class?"

A tall, strong-looking guy with black hair and green eyes walked across the arena. A sword appeared in his hands.

Travis relaxed. He ran up to the guy and gave him a huge, dramatic hug. "Oh, thank the gods, it's Percy Jackson, twice Savior of Olympus, slayer of the Minotaur, Arachne, Kronos, Kelli, and thousands more monsters! Here to save the day!"

He detached from Percy. As the guy walked toward us, Travis winked from behind him, hands full of stuff. A watch, a wallet, a knife, belt, keys, phone, and a pack of Kleenex.

Percy, oblivious, took a stance. "Alright, guys, first thing today is gonna be—"

"Excuse me, Percy," someone said. "I got a new knife today. Could you take a picture?"

"Um,sure?" Percy said, confused by the request. He reached into his pocket. Then he whipped around and glared at Travis, whose hands were behind his back innocently.

"Fuck you, Stoll," he groaned. "Why? Oh gods."

Travis took his hands from behind his back. They were empty. Then he reached into Percy's pocket and pulled out the phone. Then the keys. He reached into the other pocket and pulled out the wallet and Kleenex. He grabbed the watch from Percy's ear and the belt was around his waist again.

He laughed at Percy's shocked look. "Come on," he said. "I'm just that good."

Percy shook his head. "So good you're gonna get yourself killed sometime," he said.

Travis shrugged. "Hasn't happened yet."

"Though Katie tries hard enough," Connor said.

Percy cleared his throat. "Okay! Back to swordfighting."

* * *

That night at the Campfire, during the singing, a red glow came from somewhere above me. I looked up, but I couldn't see anything.

The other campers stopped singing and looked at me. Some pointed, some whispered. I kept trying to see what it was, but I didn't see it.

Chiron came forward. "You have been claimed," he said solemnly. This was it. Who was my godly parent? "All hail Brett Rilder. Son of Ares."

* * *

 **Aaaaand that's a wrap! How was? Good? Bad? Stupid? Genius? Tell me tell me tell me! Come on, I'm waiting for some reviews!**

 **Sorry, but the first two chapters were boring as Asphodel. They had to be, cause they were that hated and feared substance known as** ** _filler_** **.**

 **Anyway, the next chappie promises to be filled with villains, 'venture, and vauntable verbosities!**

 **Farewell, my good people!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Alright! Looka that! A whole new chapter! What terrifying trials tantalize the teen (pro)tagonist? Carry on to find out! Read to satisfy you; Review to satisfy me! Survive!**

* * *

 _Hey, guys. I'm in some trouble right now._

 _See, I finished this book before I sent it out there. But right as I was sending it to the publishing company, MacroCorps broke into my house and held my prisoner while they went through my devices. They were trying to find contacts, locations, evidence, anything. I'm not stupid enough to leave secret information on my devices, though._

 _However, they deleted all trace of this book. I'm now reduced to sending it chapter by chapter as I re-write them._

 _But MacroCorps is trying to hunt me down. They got wind that I was doing this, so they're tracking me. I'm currently in -. Sorry, that's encoded. I can't let them find me._

 _Anyway, here's the next chapter._

* * *

I was a child of the god of war. The most impulsive, violent, aggressive divinity there was.

I fit right in.

When they heard I'd killed someone, they were all over me. I must have told the story at least six times. The Ares campers, naturally, loved it.

But no one else did.

They said I was unstable; I could go crazy. When I explained it was protecting Kade, they stopped saying those things, but then they moved on to: I was wanted. I was a killer. I had used my demigod powers (though I hadn't meant to) to kill a _mortal_. A virtually defenseless one at that.

In short, no one except my siblings really accepted me.

That is, until I met Nico di Angelo.

I was sitting on a rock in the forest, wishing for home, when he appeared next to me, slap out of the shadows. My peripheral vision saw something black come from shadows, so I thought _hellhound_ , and I drew my sword and lunged.

I was disarmed, on my back, sword at my throat, in .4 seconds flat.

"Who are you?" the black-clothed fifteen-year-old asked, not accusingly or threateningly, just curious. "Haven't seen you here before."

"Who the Hades are you?" I spat. "Coming out of the shadows like that."

"Don't curse with my dad's name," he said, serious. "He's tired of it."

"Wha–your dad? Who…." Then I remembered Nico di Angelo, the only son of Hades. "You're Nico!"

He sheathed his sword and mimed wild applause. "Well done," he said. "Now who are you?"

"Brett," I said. "Son of Ares."

He showed sudden recognition. "Oh! You're the guy who killed the mortal!"

I sighed. "Yeah, but I was trying to keep a kid—"

"No, no," he interrupted me. "I applaud you. I would've killed him myself. He got Asphodel, thought you'd want to know."

I nodded. "Good."

He grinned. "Vicious, much?"

I shrugged. "Son of Ares, hey, what can you do."

He nodded. We talked. By dinnertime, I considered him a friend. He even taught me Mythomagic.

* * *

The next morning, I trained in the arena for a bit, then I went to the lake to swim. Percy was there, teaching some younger kids how to paddle a canoe.

I didn't want to disturb them, since I knew that people told terrifying stories about me. I thought they were funny, in a dark kind of way.

When Percy's lesson was finished, I went in and swam for a bit. When I came out, Percy was standing there, watching me.

"Did you want something?" I asked irritably.

"Have you seen Nico?' he asked.

"Nope," I answered.

"Oh really? You were with him for a long time last night. Where is he?"

"Listen, I don't know what you're talking about. Leave me alone."

He waved his hand. A hand of water grabbed me and lifted me. I couldn't get out of it.

"Tell me where he is and I'll put you down," he said, reasonably.

"I don't fucking know what you're talking about," I yelled at him. "Put me down, Jackson. I'll have your head…I swear, if you don't…"

A jet of water blasted me in the face. "Where is he!" Percy yelled. "He's like my brother. If he's hurt in any way, so help me, I will—"

"Shut up! You idiot!" I screamed. "I don't know where he is! I haven't seen him since last night! Leave me alone!"

"I don't trust you," he growled. "Chiron should never have let you into this camp. We don't welcome _killers_ here."

I saw red. I don't know how I did it, but the water holding me up just turned to steam and I was flung onto the bank. Percy's eyes widened. I looked down.

I was literally burning. Steam was hissing off of me, and my hair was smoldering. I lunged at him. He lifted his arm. My fist connected with his hand. I felt a _crunch_.

Percy Jackson dropped to his knees. He yelled in pain, and a swirling storm cloud of water lifted from the lake. It crashed down on me, a few hundred pounds of water, but instead of flattening me, it turned to steam and lifted away.

His face showed total shock. I drove my fist into his face and he went down.

* * *

I put on my shirt and stomped to the Big House, still smoking. Mr. D and Chiron were playing cards on the front porch.

"I'm leaving," I announced.

"What?" Chiron said.

"You heard me. I'm leaving. Today."

"Why?" Mr. D asked, lazily, but I could tell he was slightly interested.

"Percy Jackson just accused me of doing something to Nico. He called me a killer and said you shouldn't have accepted me here. And that's how everyone feels, so I'm leaving. I'm tired of the stares and whispers. I beat him up, he's out cold on the beach. And I swear on the River Styx I don't know where Nico di Angelo is."

Thunder rumbled.

"Hmm," Mr. D said. "I think a quest is in order, eh, Chiron?"

Chiron sighed. "I agree. Brett is not happy here, so we will not hinder him if he wishes for a quest."

He turned to me. "Brett Rilder, I give you permission to ask the Oracle for a quest. If you complete it, I'm sure it'll clear your name."

I nodded. "Thank you, sir."

I walked away.

* * *

The Oracle's cave was awesome. It had anything and everything. Rachel, the Oracle, was inside, painting a picture of a kid slicing a monster to dust. Behind the monster was the Empire State Building. The only thing missing in the picture was the kid's face.

"Hello," I said.

"Hey," she said. "Here for a prophecy?"

"Yup," I said. "Got anything?"

"Sure."

She waited for about three seconds, then her eyes rolled up in her head. Green smoke billowed out of her mouth.

" _I am the spirit of Delphi, speaker of the prophecies of Phoebus Apollo, slayer of the mighty Python. Approach, seeker, and ask._ "

"I need a quest," I said. "A prophecy."

The smoke formed a familiar shape: Dylan. Whole and unhurt. Even though I knew it was just an image, my fists clenched.

He grinned at me. Then he said, in the Oracle's voice,

" _You shall find your enemy in his kin's great home,_

 _You shall foil his plans and make your own,_

 _You shall seek mysteries and secrets that should a secret stay,_

 _But burn and destroy when you cannot find a way._ "

Out of all the prophecies I'd heard of, this one was vague. Very vague. But two things were sure: I'd find an enemy, and I'd go on a rampage. Bad.

But smoke Dylan wasn't finished. He waved his hand, and the smoke formed the MacroCorps symbol. Then he said: " _If survive the Secret's deadly snare, when in the maze of death, look there._ "

He smiled and dissolved into nothingness.

* * *

 _Hey, this is me. You're not in the story any more._

 _This is an emergency. MacroCorps is right behind me. If at any point you see these words, anywhere in the story:_ Red Rum _, learn from the Shining and know that I_ might _be dead. Okay? Remember that. Because when MacroCorps finds me, (and yes, it's a_ when _not an_ if _,) I'll need all the help I can get. Alert your nearest satyr and help me._

 _Back to the story._

* * *

I went back to the Big House.

"I got my prophecy," I said.

"Good!" Chiron answered. "So, do you know where to go?"

"My enemy's kin's great home," I said. "Wherever that is."

"May I suggest something?" Mr. D said, surprising us. "Why doesn't Byron go to the MacroCorps HQ? That's where his enemy's from, isn't it?" He smiled cruelly. "And MacroCorps is known by the gods for it's…how do you say it?… _deadliness_."

Chiron shushed him. "Don't go looking for trouble, Brett, my boy," he said. "My advice? Start walking. You'll get where you need to go."

"Fine," I said. "But my quest doesn't even have a purpose."

I recited the prophecy in full for him.

"Well, seems like Billy should try to find the Secret, whatever that is," Mr. D said. "I wonder what that would be. Something to do with wine, hopefully. Pinot."

I shrugged. "Start walking. Find the Secret. Deadly trap, maze of death, MacroCorps. Got it."

"Not MacroCorps!" Chiron said. "There's something _wrong_ about them. Avoid them."

"Great," I said. "Red Rum."


	4. Chapter 4

**Welcome back, my good people! What has happened to Brett in the short time that we're gone? Read on to find out!**

* * *

 _Hey. This is me. I'm in an underground cavern under the MacroCorps HQ. I've been here once before, so it's not too hard for me to find my way around._

 _Anyway, I know you may have been worried when you read the Red Rum. I'm happy to say that I survived._

 _You see, the leader of MarcroCorps is a man named Frederick. Dylan's adopted father, which I didn't learn until far too late. In my youth, I envisioned him as this tall, thin, black-haired, sinister figure._

 _That's exactly right._

 _Anyway, Frederick runs MacroCorps with a woman named Madame Pierriot. The most dangerous woman in the world. And the third most dangerous mortal in the world._

 _Number two would be the leader of the Institution, a devilish organization dedicated to hunting down the last remnants of Sparta._

 _Number one is Frederick Maslat himself._

 _Frederick's goons attacked me. I was in Switzerland, I can tell you now, and I was unfortunately at the top of a high mountain._

 _Four of them came at me on the ground, and a chopper tried to gun me down. I took the ground troops out, but a round from the chopper knocked me, screaming profanity, down the mountain._

 _Anyway, I landed fifty feet on snow. Comfy? Not really. I then slipped off a ledge and fell fifty more feet onto rock._

 _I blacked out._

 _When I came to, I was in the MacroCorps HQ. They'd fixed me up. They interrogated me. Used every torture known to man and them some new ones. But I stayed strong. Told them nothing._

 _Okay, that was a lie. I told them everything._

 _Once they'd milked me dry, they kicked me out and left me for dead. I managed to crawl into the underground catacombs that honeycomb the stone foundation of the MacroCorps building._

 _I've survived on water and stolen food for two days. I'm a lot more skinny now, but I had to put the truth out there. As soon as I send this next chapter out, I'll have moved, so to the MacroCorps trackers who are undoubtedly reading this: Fuck you. I lived._

 _Anyway, here's the next chapter in the life of Brett._

* * *

I'd like to say I left impressively, with a hero's sendoff. That's not quite what happened. What really happened was I basically snuck out. Percy was found, and put in the infirmary, so I didn't want to attract too much attention. Chiron told me that he would explain everything to Percy, and Percy would undoubtedly understand and apologize for his rash actions.

Whatever. I dropped the mic.

Anyway, I walked for about half an hour. Then I drove in a van for about another two hours. Where'd I get the van? It happened like this.

I was slowly tiring. I paused at the end of a little back country road, where I was pretty much hoping for some godly intervention.

Then a van pulled up, a shadowy figure shot a dart into my neck, I passed out, and they took me away.

Great. Real smooth start to your quest, Brett.

* * *

I woke up in a metal room.

I was strapped to some kind of a table, cables on my hands, legs, and neck. The room was empty and bare, except for the table and a door.

It was very dimly lit. A single lightbulb flickered in the corner of the room, behind me.

I turned my head.

A floodlight went on.

I winced and closed my eyes, the white spots dancing in my eyelids for a long time. I heard the door open. I cracked my eyes open to see who it was.

It was a man. Tall, thin, black haired, short, trim, goatee, and a suit. He walked over to the table and leaned over me.

"So," he said. "Brett Rilder."

"God," I said. "What a relief it is to hear my real name."

He didn't smile. "I'm going to ask you three questions. Answer them all, truthfully, and I'll let you go. Answer any of them false, and I'm sure you'll be subjected to the worst tortures in the universe for eternity."

What was this guy talking about? Anyway, my lying skills were pretty well honed.

"Shoot," I said.

"Number one," he said, with a thin smile. "Where is Camp Half-Blood?"

Wait, what? These people knew about Camp? This was gonna be harder than I'd thought. "Maine," I said.

He shrugged. "I'll believe you."

Good.

"If you swear on the River Styx," he finished.

Damn.

"I—I can't," I said.

His smile got wider. "Swear it, boy," he hissed.

"I—I don't—I don't know where it is," I said desperately.

"Swear it on the Styx, then," he growled.

"I won't!"

"Then we will have to torture you ourselves. Lady Styx need not trouble herself."

He pressed a button on the side of the table. The cable around my neck started to tighten. I gasped for air. "Stop!" I cried.

"Tell me where your Camp is."

"I—I don't…" The cables tightened. I couldn't breath. My vision went swimmy.

"I swear on the River Styx that it's in Long Island," I said.

The cables loosened. I gasped for air.

"Good," he said. "Now, the second question: How many demigods are in Camp?"

"I don't know that, I swear on the Styx," I said.

"Give me an estimate. And let me warn you: the Styx knows what you're thinking. She goes by your intent, not your words or trickery."

Tears rolled down my cheeks. "I swear on the Styx that I estimate a hundred," I groaned.

"Last question, and we'll let you out of here. Where are the gods?"

"I swear on the Styx I don't know," I said.

He grunted, displeased. "Then I shall have to take my chances."

He pressed a button. The cables whipped away. I started to get up.

But then the table flipped me like a catapult and flung me into the closed door. I blacked out again.

* * *

 _Hey. It's me. Well, Brett was a bit of a wimp there, huh? Give him a break. He was just a kid. And believe me, he would've definitely broken. The tortures of MacroCorps are…_ refined _. There's no getting out of it._

 _Anyway, right now I'm packing up. MacroCorps is getting too close for finding me for my comfort. Here's a message to them:_

 _Hey. I know you're reading this. And I know you're hunting me. Sure, I may have told you everything you wanted to know. Sure, I may have done so before in my life. Sure, I probably ruined the world as we know it for all eternity._

 _But I want you to know: You haven't broken me. Yeah, maybe you broke me on the torture table. Like you did to Brett, all those years ago. But I haven't surrendered. I'll still keep fighting._

 _As long as there're blue cookies._

 _Another thing: to my readers. Percy isn't a jerk. He seemed like it when he was accusing Brett of this, that, and the other thing, but he was concerned for Nico. I know I was. He was fully convinced that Brett had done something, and frankly, I don't blame him. But he's still the adorable, cute, fluffy, ball of Kronos-killing we all know and love. When he woke up, he felt no resentment towards Brett, and realized he had flipped out. Just for you information._

 _Last thing: to MacroCorps. If you kill your torture subjects, they can't tell you anything._

 _Till next time._

* * *

 **To my readers, thanks to madwamoose again, you're awesome. Hey everyone: check her out. She's got some great Avengers stories. And to everyone else: review already. Please. Four chapters isn't a piece of cake, you know. So I'm making this chapter short cause I'm super busy and have barely enough time to make myself a cuppa in the mornings.**


	5. IMPORTANT CLICHE AN! MUST READ!

**Greetings and salutations, my good people!**

 **I shake you warmly by the hand on this momentous day. Because: I am making an announcement that, to some of you, may cause consternation and gnashing of teeth.**

 **Here it is. Don't shoot.**

 **I'm stopping this story.**

 **WAIT WAIT WAIT DON'T SHOOT ME YET! There's more.**

 **I am putting it up for adoption.**

 **Hoho yes, the** ** _first_** **and** ** _very first_** **person (aside from a few whom I will name at the bottom) to respond and ask for the story: Shall receive it! Muhahahaha!**

 **There will be a bit more legal mumbo-jumbo, but here's the basic ideer.**

 **1\. You will review this story asking for the rights to it.**

 **2\. I will DocX every chappie over to you, you will repost them as a new story but** ** _not changing anything about the chapters I've written so far_** **. This is very important.**

 **3\. You will: Keep the title; change the summary if you wish; put 'Adopted from TheLittleDeformedOne' in the summary** ** _and_** **the first chapter you write; and eat a piece of chocolate.**

 **4\. Then the story's all yours! Yippee! I will tell you two (2) key plot points that I strongly recommend you adhere to, but other than that, go crazy with it! Yaaaay!**

 **Alright, that's the deal. If you want this story (which is pretty good, if I do say so myself) ask me for it and I will give! First come first served! Awesome, huh?**

 **And the names of people whom I shall** ** _not_** **give the story to. And the reasons. No offense if your name is on here.**

 **Kohinoor – Sorry, man. (Girl. Whichever.) Our writing is just so different, and I don't want this story changed** ** _so_** **damn drastically.**

 **mel-chan1003 – Again, no offense. (I doubt you're reading this anyway. So this is just a precaution.) It's because you're** ** _too f-ing good_** **and I don't want to be kinda-sorta collaborating and be really bad in comparison to you.**

 **Connorkenway00 – Actually, this goes to** ** _anyone_** **who only writes lemons. Because I seriously don't want my story in there and, with my luck, be the only name someone remembers as they're looking at smut. Sorry.**

 **Guests – Does any more need to be said? Don't be stupid, people. (And to the guest who asked me how old I was on one of my fics: How the hell do you think I'm going to answer you? Jeez.)**

 **Okay, people! Send in your requests for adoption rights, I'll send you a legal form you'll have to sign (JK) and you can be on your way, eating bon-bons and doing whatever else it is that you rich people do.**

 **Survive!**


	6. SECOND IMPORTANT AN!

**Hey everyone! This is just to say: the story's been adopted by latenightcoffee, so hop on over and check it out! I'm super excited for how the new story's gonna turn out, so... yeah.**

 **Survive!**


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